


Terminal Velocity is Actually Something That Can Be So Personal

by folkgirlhero



Series: Mike Crew's Guide to Seducing Your Enemies and Alienating Your Loved Ones [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Mike Crew is a bitch and I like him SO MUCH, Monsterfucker Gerard Keay, More banter really, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The bitchy one is soft for the grumpy one, There's a little plot I guess, Trans Gerard Keay, mike crew - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:39:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28889235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folkgirlhero/pseuds/folkgirlhero
Summary: Mike Crew plants Vast Leitners around London because it’s easier to piss Gerry off than to tell him he misses him.Alternate summary: Two bossy men annoy the shit out of each other and have wind sex, simultaneously.
Relationships: Michael "Mike" Crew/Gerard Keay
Series: Mike Crew's Guide to Seducing Your Enemies and Alienating Your Loved Ones [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186421
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	Terminal Velocity is Actually Something That Can Be So Personal

**Author's Note:**

> Update 1/24: I saw someone rec this in the comments of a tiktok today and if you wandered back, I just want you to know, I will be riding that high for WEEKS ♥️
> 
> **
> 
> My usual ship is gerry/michael, which I mention only so you know I do not care about canon even a little bit. And don’t even ask about this Mike Crew characterization, idek, I haven’t read much with him. But I like the way he turned out!  
> Inspired by bratsrights’ headcanons of Gerry’s avatar fuck list, which *chef’s kiss* May I someday write smut as excellent at theirs!
> 
> CW: Both "cock" and "cunt" are used for Gerry's genitals.

Mike shouldered the door open and dragged his luggage through the threshold, dropping it as soon as it was far enough in to get the door closed again. He let out a deep breath and peered blearily at his kitchen through the dim light of the streetlamp outside his window.

“What do you think you’re doing?” came a voice from the darkness. 

Mike jumped in surprise and squinted at the figure barely visible sitting in one of his kitchen chairs. The flick of a lighter and pull of a cigarette illuminated the face of Gerard Keay. Mike smirked.

“What, now? I just flew in from Paris…” He raised an eyebrow at Gerry.

“Yes, and look at the state of your arms,” he rejoined, sarcastic and predictable as ever.

“You want a cuppa?” Mike asked, heading towards the kettle. “And to not smoke that thing in my house?”

Gerry groaned and took a last drag off the cigarette before stubbing it out on one of Mike’s glass coasters, which earned an eye roll from Mike. 

“Chamomile; I’ve not been sleeping.”

Mike clucked his tongue and dug into the back of the cupboard. “You are adorable.”

Gerard narrowed his eyes. “A bit glib for someone who’s partially the cause of it.”

“Surely you have me mixed up with someone else,” Mike responded easily. “That or your life has gotten far more boring than usual, if I’m even in the top five of scary things on your list.”

A scowl and a grunt was all he got in return. 

“Come on, don’t be coy,” he said, sliding Gerard the chamomile and sitting down across from him with his own Irish breakfast. “What heinous thing have I done now?”

“I’m sure whatever Vast bullshit you were up to in Paris was—”

Mike made a slight twist with his hand and the sudden wind rushing by Gerry’s ears shut him up immediately.

“That’s better. I know you didn’t come here nag me about something you didn’t even know about until I walked in. So why don’t you tell me what this is really about?”

Gerry gave the slightest nod, jaw tight.

Mike smiled warmly at him and the wind disappeared. He took a sip of his tea and gazed at Gerard over the top of the cup.

Still scowling, Gerry flipped open his bag and pulled out a book, tossing it on the table without a thought to his tea cup, which it narrowly missed. Paperback, sickly green cover, _Our Spirits Soar Free_ embossed on the cover in loopy cursive. Another joined it, this one thin and hardbound, deep blue, no title. The third was a _Goosebumps_ book, or at least it looked like one. The final book looked more like a zine, with the words _Starfuckers Unite!_ emblazoned on the cover in bright pink. 

Mike didn’t touch them. He didn’t have to to know that each one had a Jurgen Leitner bookplate, a stamp from a London library, and a checkout and return date within the last 4 months for one Michael Crew.

Gerard tipped back in his chair, rested a booted foot on Mike’s table, crossed his arms, and looked as unimpressed as he could. Mike’s smile widened, gross boots aside. He said nothing, taking another sip of tea.

Gerard’s eyes bulged when the silence lengthened. “Well??” he finally burst out. “What the fuck, Mike?”

“I can’t believe you’re carrying them around all together like that,” Mike commented mildly, taking another sip of tea. “Sometimes I worry you have a death wish.”

“I definitely wish for _a_ death right now, but it isn’t mine,” Gerard growled. “What the fuck are you doing? Are you distributing them? God, are you producing _more_? Is this some larger Vast plan? Why put your fucking _name_ in them? What, are you the next Leitner or something?”

“Would you believe that I missed you?”

Gerry let out a loud and mirthless “Ha!”

“I know, and you so loud and rude all the time. Hard to believe. Your tea is getting cold.”

Gerry picked up the tea cup, draining it without breaking eye contact. “Delicious,” he said dryly.

Mike rolled his eyes. “As if you would notice. Come then, what do you want? An explanation?”

“To start,” Gerard shot back.

“Well, you’re going to need to get used to disappointment then. How about a number?”

Gerard raised his eyebrows. “Of how many are still out there?”

“If you’d like,” Mike responded, ambiguous. He took a delicate sip of tea, pointedly, as if to model correct etiquette.

He was shaking his head. “Not good enough.”

“Honestly, I’m amazed you haven’t burned them yet. Saving them for a dramatic confrontation isn’t really your style.”

“I want to know what you’re playing at.”

Mike looked sympathetic. “And your telephone was broken?” 

Gerry slammed his fist on the table, making the tea cups rattle. “Be serious, Mike. This shit is dangerous. And between the book plates and your smirking, I can’t help but take it personally.”

Mike’s face lit up with delight. “Oh _can’t_ you?”

Gerard narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

Mike gave a long-suffering sigh and pushed his chair back, standing and making a bit of a show of straightening his sleeves and brushing non-existent crumbs from his button-up. 

“Perhaps I could give you something for your troubles. I can’t imagine that search went quickly; I did try to spread them out quite a bit.”

Gerard gave a “harumph.”

Mike hummed in response and moved around to his side of the table. 

“The thing is,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the table, “I wasn’t lying earlier.”

Gerard dropped his chair to all four legs once again and swiveled to sit sideways in it, facing Mike. With their height difference, he was only a few inches shorter, seated. 

“About what?” he demanded. 

Mike reached out and ran the back of a finger down Gerry’s jawline, heat pooling in his belly at the way Gerry’s breath caught, the way he frozen still as a statue. 

Mike leaned in, lips nearly touching Gerry’s ear, voice a breathy whisper. “You aren’t really going to make me say it, are you?”

Gerry swallowed.

**

This was… Well, it seemed naïve to say “unexpected.” Any encounter with Mike was just as likely to end in fucking as it was in fighting, and more often than not included a bit of both. But he was properly pissed off this time. It wasn’t like he’d confided in Mike about his Leitner-based traumas; their, um, _connection_ , wasn’t really based in communication and vulnerability. But there was a lot you could infer with a working knowledge of fear Entities and the public record, and Mike was absolutely the type to extensively Google you before fucking you. In fact, Gerry knew he had, thanks to some bitchy matricide jokes early in their acquaintance. Mike had only stopped when they stopped getting a rise out of Gerry, which honestly hadn’t taken that long. He’d never admit it, but Mike was much funnier than he was. 

All this to say, Mike definitely knew the Leitner thing would piss him off and he’d gone and done it anyway. And now here he was with his clever fingers and sharp banter, trying to work his way into Gerry pants. No way in hell was Gerry going to make it easy for him. 

He stood suddenly, causing Mike to stumble backwards and crane his neck up in surprise. Gerry had almost a foot on him, with the boots, so that was immediately satisfying, moreso when Gerry crossed his arms directly in front of Mike’s face.

“I’m not interested in your bullshit,” Gerry spat. “I want a straight answer. Where are the rest of them? How many are there? And _why_ , for fuck’s sake?”

Mike’s eyes flashed. “It really is fascinating to me that _that_ is what you’re fixated on. Practical Gerard Keay, lone defender of humanity, and he wants to know _why_?” 

“Yeah,” Gerry said with a jerk of his head. “I do.”

“Because I’m a monster,” Mike said, voice icy. He poked a finger into Gerry’s chest, hard. “Remember?”

Gerry hesitated.

“Well?” Mike asked, glowering at him. His sudden ferocity was intimidating, regardless of his height. Always had been. “Do you? Or are a few good shags enough for you to convince yourself of my humanity?”

“I know what you are.” Gerry’s voice was stubborn, almost resentful. 

“Good.” Mike’s fury dissipated immediately and his voice was relaxed and ironic again. “Then let’s leave the “why” of it all out of it.”

Gerry scoffed and pulled out his cigarettes again, suddenly craving one. He leaned down to light it and looked up at Mike’s “tsk.” Mike snapped and a stiff wind blew open the sliding glass door that led to his balcony.

Gerry grinned at that, reluctant but genuine. “God, you’re such a show off.”

Mike raised an eyebrow and gave an overly elaborate “after you” gesture. Gerry sighed and trooped out to the balcony, lighting his cigarette as he went. 

**

Mike leaned against the doorframe, watching Gerard’s long fingers as he tapped his cigarette against the railing, ashes falling to the street far below, watched his black painted lips as he gently sucked in more smoke. 

There was no one quite like Gerard Keay. A whirlwind of dichotomies and contradictions wrapped in an ugly leather coat. Hating the Entities, yet building his entire life around them, valuing life but still willing to sacrifice it, wanting at once to save humanity and avoid it completely by consorting with monsters. Easy-going and affable, but could be wound up with the simplest jab. And Mike had few things as pleasurable in his life as winding Gerry up. 

But Gerry hadn’t gone this long without learning a few things as well. Mike narrowed his eyes as Gerry watched the smoke trail out over the city below, face far too serene for someone who had been furious with him just minutes before, seemingly lost in thought. Looking for all the world like he’d forgotten Mike was there.

Mike gritted his teeth then said, in a voice far too casual, “Cherryhill.”

“Hmm?” Gerard’s gaze remained on the city below. 

“There’s one at Cherryhill.”

He turned now, looking at Mike appraisingly. “Was that so hard?”

Mike bristled, even as a little part of him was pleased to have Gerry’s eyes on him again. 

“You got a title?”

“You know, I don’t recall.”

“Come off it, Mike.” Gerry pushed away from the railing, full attention on him again.

“It was red, I believe.” Mike tapped a finger thoughtfully against his chin, eyes up at the sky.

“Red?”

“Maybe a burnt orange.” 

Gerard crowded him up against the glass door, arm out next to Mike’s head, barring him from ducking away. “Give me a title,” he growled, a hint of the static he usually worked so hard to keep out of his voice creeping in. “Now.”

Mike’s eyes twinkled with triumph. “ _The Sparks Fly Upward_ ” he said, voice soft, compelled.

**

Gerry dropped the cigarette and ground it under his boot, leaning down to catch Mike’s mouth in a searing kiss. If this was the game he wanted to play, well, at least Gerry knew the rules. He felt rather than heard Mike’s groan, felt his hands running up Gerry’s arms, curling around his biceps, felt the heat pooling in his stomach when Mike’s tongue slid against his. Gerry leaned in to the kiss, forcing Mike’s head back. He ran a finger down Mike’s neck, skin taut over his Adam’s apple, just to feel Mike’s shudder against him.

“Did you come out to this balcony for a reason?” Mike breathed the question into his mouth, making no move to stop kissing him.

“You know what I like already,” Gerry murmured. “Why ask?”

“I think you know why.”

Gerry did. But, pride aside, the fight was half the point. For both of them, Gerry suspected. And anyway, Mike didn’t need to know just how willing Gerry was to come running at the wiggle of his finger or the crack of lightning in a dark sky. 

Instead of answering, he pushed back, shoving Mike against the glass door, causing it to rattle when he threw himself after. It was something between a snog and a fight, all teeth and hair pulling and nails scratching, mixed in with warm, wet mouths seeking to rip out groans of pleasure. Gerry was dizzy with it in a way that was only natural and also the furthest thing from it. 

He pulled back, catching his breath and scraping his hair out of his face. Mike had a moment of looking rumpled, eyes dark with lust, mouth open and breaths shallow, and then his mask was back up and he was straightening his cuffs and looking politely interested. Gerry smirked at him. Making Mike Crew lose control of himself was something few people could do, and Gerry had taken the time to become an expert in it. But not without answers.

Gerry took out his lipstick and made a bit of a show of reapplying in his reflection in the glass door before turning back to Mike and crossing his arms.

“That it?” he asked, ambiguous. 

Now it was Mike’s face flickering with annoyance. “Is that all that you want?” 

“You know it isn’t.”

**

They both glared at each other, each one’s stubbornness at war with his desire. Mike caved first, with a flash of irritation to tell Gerard he would pay for it. Then Mike was on his knees, hands sliding up against Gerard’s thighs, pushing him back against the dangerously low balcony railing. 

“Sherwood branch,” he said curtly, popping the button and tugging down Gerard’s zipper. “ _Flightdeck_.”

“Did you just find these appropriately-named Leitners and put them in circulation, or?”

Mike ignored him completely, opting instead to tug down his jeans and pants and hoist his thigh over his shoulder. 

“No, really, I’m curious. It must have taken a lot of effo—”

His sentence broke off in a gasp as Mike licked a broad stroke over the breadth of him and looked up at him with a shit-eating grin. 

Gerry’s face suggested that it was work to hold back a shudder and he tried to hide it by rolling his eyes and motioning for Mike to get on with it.

Mike held his stare from a moment. Gerard Keay was best enjoyed when slowly taking him apart, piece by piece, as Mike knew from experience. He’d start small.

He laved at Gerry, tongue messy at first, making Gerry squirm and complain about getting the right friction, before slowly tightening to little circles around his cock. Gerry’s writhing gave way to aborted little jerks of his hips, chasing Mike’s tongue just a millimeter to the left, or up, or harder, face tight with frustration and need. Mike broke off occasionally, to suck a bruise into the soft skin of his thigh or drag a teasing finger across his cunt, both of which were met with protests from an increasingly-wordless Gerry. After a while his growls of frustration turned pleading. Mike’s breathing sped up at the sound and he felt hot all over. 

Mike stayed steady, continuing to pull needy little noises out of Gerard as he increased his pace and tightened his focus bit by bit, feeling Gerry’s entire body stiffen slowly, until he was a taut wire, vibrating with anticipation under Mike’s tongue. Mike drove into him, then, licking and sucking in exactly the way he knew Gerry liked, until Gerry melted into his mouth, only just tense enough to stay balanced against the railing. 

Just when Gerard seemed mellow and mindless, Mike drove two fingers inside him, hot and wet, and stood up on his knees, tipping Gerry back. The way he clenched against Mike’s fingers and whimpered, though, made Mike doubt he’d noticed the movement. He groped for Gerry’s hand and slid it into his own hair. He’d need it to hold on in a minute.

“Ah, mm, no,” Gerard gasped, pulling it back. “Gimme another title.”

Mike’s irritated groan rumbled straight through Gerard and he gave an involuntary lurch against Mike’s mouth.

“Masonville.” Mike pulled back to look up at him, eyebrow arched. “ _Balloons Go UP_.” He popped the “p.” “Now get your fucking fingers in my fucking hair.”

“Gladly.” Gerard wound his fingers in and gave a hard tug, eyes on Mike’s face as the sharp pain went straight to his cock and he groaned. Gerard looked far too pleased with himself. Time to change that.

“Hold on,” Mike warned, before standing all the way, fingers again sliding in and out of Gerry, mouth back over his cock. And then he tipped him over the edge of the balcony.

**

Gerry stomach lurched, even as Mike fucked him through it. A mixture of panic and arousal caused him to cross his ankles behind Mike’s neck and pull him tight against him, which—he wasn’t really afraid Mike would let him fall, but now his fingers were digging sharp into Gerry’s hips and his tongue was fucking deep into him and Gerry ground down against his face as well as someone can while balancing on a relatively thin balcony railing. He curled his toes as heat coursed through his body and Mike alternated flicking his tongue against Gerry’s cock with driving it deep inside him, speeding up in time with Gerry’s groans and the pressure of Gerry’s hand on his head. 

“Mike…” He tried and failed to keep a slight whine out of his voice.

“Hmm?” The vibrations felt incredible and Gerry squirmed against Mike’s mouth to chase them. 

“Are you going to do it or not?” Gerry was definitely whining now, and too far gone to care. 

“Depends,” came the muffled response. “Are you going to show me you really want it?”

Gerry swore and yanked at Mike’s hair again, but since this only pulled his face away from Gerry’s cunt and caused Mike to let out a moan that was far too lascivious to be entirely genuine, it was deeply unsatisfying.

Mike smirked and dove back in, though the quick sight of his face rubbed red and wet from Gerry’s cunt pushed Gerry over the edge, metaphorically speaking. 

“Fuck. Fine. Please Mike, use your incredible sky powers to rock my world.”

Mike ignored him, pace steady, and Gerry let out a roar of frustration and lust.

“God, Mike, you fucking asshole! Please! I need it!”

Mike leaned over him, grin wide and eyes mischievous, and whispered in his ear: “There. Was that so hard?”

Gerry felt the wind pick up, his hair flying wild in all directions, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes, a rushing sound filling his ears and then his stomach dropped and he was weightless and falling. He knew Mike had tugged his body to the ground, or draped him over the café table or hell, maybe Mike had to power to keep people suspended in midair; what the fuck did Gerry know?—but every sense told him he was hurtling towards the pavement and the cognitive dissonance was exhilarating. He let out a whoop and felt Mike’s mouth against his, grinning.

“Look at you,” Mike breathed. “East London. _Skyfall_. The DVD.”

Gerry knew he’d never remember that, but it felt nice anyhow, and Mike’s mouth was so clever and he felt so _good_ , he could hardly bear it. He pulled Mike against him, shivering from the wind and the endless feeling of flight or falling, it was hard to tell which, and kissed him deeply, feeling like he was falling into that, too. 

Mike’s tongue stroked against Gerry’s and Gerry tasted himself and chased the taste down Mike’s throat, mind reeling with dizziness and disorientation. The only sure thing was Mike and whatever Mike was doing to him. Whatever Mike might do to him next. He moaned into the kiss digging fingers into Mike’s back and winding them into his hair again to press him as close as possible. 

“How is it?” Mike murmured, not pulling away.

Gerry couldn’t answer, head full of sky and wind and Mike. He gave a dazed hum and canted his hips against Mike, hoping that would be enough.

And it was. Mike chuckled and then drove his fingers back into Gerry, curling them just right to fill Gerry’s vision with stars. The sensations were nearly too much; Gerry’s head spun with vertigo and he closed his eyes against it, which only deepened his disorientation. He buried his face in Mike’s neck and bit down, hard. Mike let out a cry of pain, but didn’t push Gerry away, adding a third finger instead and increasing his pace. 

“Is this what you need?” he asked, clearly not expecting a reply. “Do you need me to keep going?” 

Gerry groaned and canted his hips in rhythm with Mike’s fingers and sucked a deep purple bruise into Mike’s shoulder. He felt like a cloth wrung up as tight as it would go. He felt like hot glass spun so thin it would shatter on impact. Mike felt all around him, fingers in his cunt and his hair and trailing teasing lines across his stomach, mouth on his neck and whispering in his ear. And beyond Mike, pressing in on all sides, excruciatingly empty, was the vast openness, scattered with remote stars.

Gerry forced himself to release his vice-like hold on Mike, stomach turning in a fear adjacent to releasing a parachute and finding the backpack empty. Gerry breathed through it and reached down to take Mike in hand, grinning with satisfaction when he heard Mike’s breathing catch in his ear. They were spinning through the air like that, free-falling and panting into one another’s necks, eyes full of each other’s needy expressions and the empty night surrounding them, slowly and carefully building one another’s pleasure. 

Then Mike twisted his wrist just right, and Gerry was keening, rocking shamelessly against Mike’s fingers, forcing himself to pull Mike to his own orgasm before losing himself completely. Mike slowed his fall—both of them—quieting all the sensations until Gerry could feel the cold ground beneath him, and Mike’s warm body pressed against him, and the quiet of the balcony, with muffled noises of the city below them. 

**

After a long moment, during which Gerry slowed his breathing and Mike ran his fingers through Gerry’s tangled hair, smoothing it out and not taking his eyes off Gerry’s face, Gerry rolled to his side to look back. 

Mike had so much he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Gerry how beautiful he looked, falling, peaceful and exhilarated. He wanted to tell Gerry that none of the Leitners even did anything, that he had just replicated the bookplates to rile Gerry up so Mike could bring him back down. He wanted to tell him he was scared he was falling in love with him. But they didn’t do that kind of thing, he and Gerry.

Instead he hoisted himself up and reached out for Gerry’s hand. “C’mon,” he said, pulling Gerry to his feet with a crooked smile. “I made you a list of the Leitners.”

Gerry’s face lit up with surprise and he planted a kiss in Mike’s hair. As Mike led the way inside, he felt another little piece of his heart crack, sweet and brittle as candy.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments = serotonin :D


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